Feminist POEM: Me Too — Now A Brand Knew Whirled Of Daughters

They rise from along history
Yet much more so from her story
As tectonic plates ready to serve up
Unseen
Earthquakes
From a thousand generations reserved in silence
Now a brand knew
Whirled of daughters
A raze of sisters
A planet of mothers
Assault of the earth
Kind
Of guy
Proffering
A little cue and
Eh
All up in her grill
Did she
Ever have a preyer
And sow unwilling to take it like a man
As scorn his money shot
That unequivocal denial
In gendering truth
Giving phallus testimony
As lord of the manner
What gender buy ass?
All the wile
Repeating his know bull
Saying
He said, she said
Firmly regarding women
No one can ever no
As patently reckon sow
Never the less
The young cry out
Listen, those who have years
And the owed cry out
Of chorus we believe
Agin and agin
How becoming
Suspect to boot
Those inconceivable wholly catholic believers
Accused of mass hallucination
Wile evangelicals ax for forgiveness
Can we hear an “awe men”
Convicted of repentance
Fore “Whatever”
Might
Or might knot
Curred
Even “so”
Prone to think not
Either weigh
Scores are cutely a ware
Of the deference between men and women
And their coming forwardness
Women taken longer for what sow ever reason
And presumptuous minute men
Pressing for Deliverance™
The move he perfected in reel life
Yet she persists
In efface of such a lie
As a nation crime seen
Takes it tolled
In that kill her attraction
Boys will be boys
As if only, desperately only
Girls will be boy’s
At his will
And over her dead body
Yet ever rising agin
Women take the stand
With a flood of testimony
Wee will sea
Who rights history
As righteous her story
You can bet your posterity
This is the time
Where few will scarcely believe
Such daze
A nation myth taken
Bye men of owed
Having all ready pain
Billed a thousand stories tall
More than merely high
Will occupy that feted place
Having long a go
Razed hell
And now we are where
Everyone is free
To converse with angels
Holy on the level

This poem is my latest ode to the Me Too movement and a living prayer in contrast to awe of the phallus preyers offered up these daze. Women Brought All Politicians Into The World, We Can Take Them Out POLITICAL BUTTONI find inspiration in the Me Too movement to combat the pitiful and hurtful lack of trust and faith in women testifying to their own experiences, particularly about sexual assault. While the very process of the Supreme Court nomination of Bart O’Kavanaugh, aka Brett Kavanaugh, is a profound driver and marker of the progress of the Me Too movement, if Bart O. is confirmed as a Supreme Court justice, he will be a clear and present danger to all women facing sexual harassment and sexual assault. As documented by the National Women’s Law Center:

Kavanaugh’s Record Signals Danger for Survivors of Sexual Harassment

  • Stop Sexism - STOP Sign POLITICAL BUTTONDuring his time as a judge, Kavanaugh has routinely ruled against working people, going out of his way to make decisions that deny people meaningful legal protection from sexual harassment and other forms of discrimination. His approach would harm those challenging workplace harassment and suggests a general hostility to discrimination claims, which could mean he would also make it harder to challenge harassment at school, from health care providers, and elsewhere.
  • SEXISM is a Social Disease POLITICAL BUTTONSexual harassment is not about sex, it is about power and control. Undocumented immigrant workers are especially vulnerable to sexual harassment and abuse, because they lack power in the workplace and elsewhere. Luckily, the Supreme Court has made clear that federal labor and employment law protects employees regardless of their immigration status, including their right to be free from harassment. Kavanaugh could change this. In Agri Processor Co. v. N.L.R.B., Kavanaugh dissented from a decision holding that an employer must bargain with employees who sought to form a union. Kavanaugh disagreed because many of the workers were undocumented immigrants. In the face of clear Supreme Court precedent to the contrary, Kavanaugh claimed that undocumented workers were not “employees” protected by the National Labor Relations Act, solely because of their immigration status. His analysis suggests that he would also hold undocumented workers are not “employees” protected from harassment and other forms of discrimination under federal law. This would give employers a blank check to sexually exploit undocumented immigrants and otherwise engage in the most despicable kinds of discrimination.
  • The #MeToo movement has shone a light on broken systems that prioritize protecting employers over helping those who experience harassment. One such system operates in Congress. Staffers experiencing sexual harassment at the hands of members of Congress or coworkers must endure three months’ worth of counseling before they can even file a formal complaint, for example. Kavanaugh, in Howard v. Office of Chief Admin. Officer of U.S. House of Representatives, would have further weakened the system protecting Congressional staffers from harassment and other forms of discrimination. The case involved a Black woman who worked for a Congressional office and alleged she was discriminated and retaliated against because of her race and paid $22,000 less than her white male counterparts doing the same job. Kavanaugh’s dissent argued she should be completely denied the right to bring her discrimination case in court, because judges should not inquire into most employment decisions made by Congress. Congressional employees, like other employees, should be able to go to court to enforce their legal rights and not be relegated into internal systems designed to protect their employers.
  • Federal law prohibits workplace sexual harassment. But in Miller v. Clinton, Kavanaugh wrote a dissent that would have denied a group of employees working overseas for the State Department any legal protections against workplace harassment and other forms of discrimination. His dissent also argued that those protected by civil rights laws are less desirable employees —a troubling worldview.
  • As the #MeToo movement has made clear, women are still too often disbelieved when they speak up about sexual harassment and assault. Unfortunately, Kavanaugh’s kneejerk reaction is to believe employers over individuals alleging discrimination. For example, in Jackson v. Gonzales, Kavanaugh wrote an opinion dismissing a Black employee’s claim that he was denied a promotion because of his race. The employer argued that the white employee who was promoted instead was more qualified even though her qualifications didn’t match up with the requirements in the job description. Kavanaugh ruled for the employer rather than letting a jury decide whether the employer’s explanation was believable.
  • Many individuals who experience harassment are afraid to come forward because they believe doing so will make it difficult or impossible to find another job. Kavanaugh has shown no concern for these real-world consequences of challenging discrimination. In America v. Mills, an employee accused his former employer of race discrimination, and the former employer agreed to pay the employee thousands of dollars to settle the claims. The settlement agreement also said that if prospective employers contacted the former employer about him, the only response would be a neutral reference. Instead of abiding by this agreement, the former employer gave a reference that included statements such as “he may not be the guy to take it to the next level…” and “I don’t think he got along with everybody…”; he had significant difficulty finding a new job. Kavanaugh held the former employer was not liable for violating the settlement agreement because this was close enough to a neutral reference. In the real world, of course, comments like this can torpedo a job opportunity. As the dissenting judge (a Bush appointee) noted, Kavanaugh’s analysis renders meaningless the part of the settlement agreement that was meant to ensure the individual’s future job prospects were not harmed as a result of challenging discrimination.

Feel free to view my feminist and women’s rights designs:

Feminism Is The Radical Notion That Women Are People POLITICAL BUTTONGlobalize THIS - WOMEN'S RIGHTS [earth graphic] POLITICAL BUTTON

Supreme Court Nominee POEM: Ostensible Merit, Garland

Ostensible Merit, Garland

Senate Republicans bemoan
We can’t Ford
No delay
We just
Long to confirm
As weave past attest
Merit
Garland

This poem is my owed to Senate Republicans’ stellar hypocrisy, in this case regarding confirming Supreme Court nominees. They entirely delayed and fully denied the Merrick Garland nomination of the previous administration. Yet, they are hellbent on ramrodding their Brett Kavanaugh nomination through, all while a credible allegation of sexual assault goes without nonpartisan investigation. Mean wile, Dr. Christine Blasey Ford, the accuser, is vilified and must cope with multiple death threats. Less that sympathetic, more like pathetic, Senate Republicans claim ostensible merit and they are craven that garland across that abridge too far.

For the record, I took poetic license with the slant rhyme and pun of Merrick/merit. Also, I will from now on refer to Brett Kavanaugh as Bart O’Kavanaugh, the character that portrayed him in his character witness’ memoir: Wasted: Tales of a Gen X Drunk, by Mark Judge. Judge Kavanaugh’s profoundly poor judgment of his fellow Judge and alleged fellow sexual assaulter as a character witness may very well be disqualifying in itself.  Brett’s prep school buddy unabashedly portrayed his view of women by this quote on his high school yearbook page: “Certain women should be struck regularly, like gongs.”  The past matters. The present madders too.

Customer Service POEM: On Hold

Holed for service
A fool 40 minutes
Before it curse to me
Awe this while
Writing a verse
And now
Awe is write with the whirled
And still
Feeling somewhat loopy
With Muzak
As the soundtrack of my life
A borrowed cell
To get my net back
As technically
I have no phone
Without it
Beating this conundrum again
Buy perpetually wading
Virtually forever
A least weigh
Passed an hour
As much after
Out to lunch
Liable too due the same
In need of stomaching something else
…and halve an our later
I’m done
With out to lunch
Buckeye CableSystem you suck
The poetry write out of me

I wrote this poem while on hold with Buckeye CableSystem after my internet went out. Unfortunately, my phone runs off of the internet, so I can’t use my phone to call service. I have a landline, no cell phone. I borrowed my neighbor’s cell phone. After 90+ minutes on hold, I decided to hang up and dial again. Fortunately, they answered this time, after about 15 minutes. They had the internet up and running after a few hours. Unfortunately, my phone still doesn’t work, 13 days later, as my telephone provider, Pioneer Telephone, concluded after a week that whatever change Buckeye CableSystem made to the network was blocking the phone service. Perhaps typically, the phone technical service folks didn’t bother to tell me what they had concluded; I just got an e-mail that the ticket was closed. I sent an e-mail copied to both service providers asking them to get together and work this out. I haven’t heard anything yet. Perhaps they tried to call me!! I have been pondering stepping up my media sabbaticals. As I will soon enter week three without phone service, I suppose that I should be careful what I pray for.

IMMIGRATION POEM: In A Parent Idiocy

In a parent idiocy
Wee are tolled
The right
Thing to do
Is children
For sake
In wanting
To be a legitimate American
Leave your children behind
A crashing symbol
To not here
As freedom wrings
A bout effacing the music
A band in family values
Trump-it-ing
A minor problem
Into ruin U.S. racket
And those halving hearts crying
Whoa to those without!

This poem goes out to all those whose hearts are breaking because of Prez Donald Trump’s cruel policy of separating children from their parents when refugee families or immigrant families seek refuge in the United States of America. LOVE is a Traditional Family Value PEACE BUTTONHate Is Not A Family Value PEACE BUTTONThe Trump regime’s cruelty is matched only by their cowardice, making the grotesque claim that the law requires them to separate immigrant/refugee families, and even the absurd claim that the Trump policy is the Democrats’ fault. Their capacity to not take responsibility for their actions peers to no no bounds. This clarion cruelty may doom any Republican family values rhetoric for quiet awhile. Let family be a family value! Let’s rise up and end this cruel policy and work for refugee/immigrant polices characterized by compassion and generosity, not fear and xenophobia.

BICYCLING POEM: Mother Earth And Her Cycles

Mother Earth
Has her cycles
Look out!
Respect her cycles
Don’t be a fossil fool
Ride that bike!
Powered by living humans
Not dead relics
Exorcise those fossils, fool!
Ride that bike!
Get that warm feeling
And cool breeze
The perfect combo
Of vigor and refreshment
Ride that bike!
It’s in your nature
And even if it don’t make cents
It’s in your interest
Do it!
Just cause
Your Momma
Has tolled you too

I wrote this poem at the beginning of bicycling season this year. I get great joy and satisfaction from biking around, human powered, in sync with Mother Nature. I find biking in the city a natural for practicing mindfulness, simply by virtue of the attention required to stay alive and un-maimed from motor vehicles operated by licensed zombies. I appreciate the exercise that biking affords. As I am in my fourth year without a car, my instinct that my car getting totaled was a gift has proven true. I am grateful that I can live well with the sometimes inconvenience of not having a car. I feel some solidarity with the majority of humankind that doesn’t have a motor vehicle. My love affair with Mother Earth grows deeper…

Activist POEM: Yet Another Trump Tuesday at Sen. Portman’s Office

Yet Another Trump Tuesday at Sen. Portman’s Office

Empower verses
In power
What is won to think?
Lying in wait
Miring our advocacy
Swamped with democracy
When and how to mete US
We go through the drill
Lairs of representation
As hour representative
Represented by representatives
And sum how still amiss representative
Even as anyone can read the signs
Along standing
Hi noon
As if genuflecting the one
Who helled office
Only in attendance
In a shadowy cloak
Wore of attrition
By hook or crook
Never quite present to us
We no demonstrably
We have hit AWOL
Yet ever so rightly
Will pass on our tidings
And the next weak
In wake of yet an other attack
We will rise agin
Sea you soon

Indivisible Toledo holds a Trump Tuesday protest at noon every Tuesday outside Republican Sen. Rob Portman’s office in Toledo. We have been doing this since Donald Trump’s inauguration. Activism Is My Rent For Living On This Planet -- Alice Walker quote POLITICAL BUTTONTypically, a legislative aide has meet with protesters at least every few weeks. Yesterday, a legislative aide met with us for the first time in over two months, a new record for unavailability. We have never been able to meet with Sen. Portman, nor has he ever met our oft repeated request to have a public town hall meeting anywhere in Ohio — though we particularly invite him to have a town hall meeting in Toledo. Our meeting was particularly intense, reflecting cumulative rage over President Trump, and the silence of Republican congresspeople, specifically Sen. Portman. Sen. Portman has over four years til his re-election campaign, and he seems intent on biding his time during the tumultuous Trump presidency. Globalize THIS - RESISTANCE [earth graphic] POLITICAL BUTTONHe is a quite reliable vote for the Trump agenda. This poem was inspired by our meeting yesterday, and our chronic frustration in not having any direct access to our elected official. Of course, with or without Sen. Portman, the resistance will continue.

Feel free to browse my designs on dissent and resistance.

FUNNY POEM: Weight Fore It

In the dark
Weight fore it
There it is
That singular smile
Making light
Of everything
Taking a twinkle
Over
Awe the whirled
As never
Settling for number one
Even as wading for it
On and on
As inevitable
As unstoppable
Groan
Only doing what comes naturally
Going
That second smile
On that throne
Laughing
In efface of death

	 Human Race has one really effective weapon: laughter - PEACE QUOTE BUTTONCourage to Laugh Master of World as He Ready to Die - PEACE QUOTE BUTTONThis poem is autobiographical, reflecting on my persistent inability to be serious while simultaneously and chronically dealing with serious issues. While my joking may be self-deprecatory, I specialize in deflating and parodying the powerful, dangerously powerful, if that’s not redundant. For me, the lightness that characterizes the best of life comes face to face with the all-to-often brutality and injustice that intersects, often vivisects, our lives. This laughing in efface of death is my most treasured place to be, in the role of jester, for which I am willing to die, that is, die laughing.

Anti Donald Trump POEM: Wear The Truth of Donald Trump Lies

For Mexico
Donald Trump lies to the north and south
For North Korea
Donald Trump lies to the east and west
For Venezuela
Donald Trump lies to the north and south
For Iran
Donald Trump lies to the east and west
Yada, yada, yada
Etc., etc., etc.
Who can boast of that place
Where Donald Trump does not lie?
Is the site of that third eye monster ever astray?
Possessed of a super power
Engendering division
Dealing humanity into different specious
Of coarse
He thinks not
Before utter clap trap
And the buzz of confederates
As the bull of America
As in China shop
Sow much for America thirst!

This poem is owed to Donald Trump, the Liar-in-Chief.  As the Republican Party fumbles in rebuking The Don in debasing America and Americans, the chicken-hawk that is Donald Trump has come home to roost in the frighteningly apt “White” House.  As The Don, a boorish bully, shamelessly unleashes his Donald First branding scheme, he piles up countless firsts, not the least of which is, as Ta-Nehisi Coates put it, being the First White President.  As The One character vainly tries to expand beyond his erudition to 144 characters, his incoherency is exceeded only by his hypocrisy.  His orange-faced lies, his signature leer, blends his red and yellow temper in strange perfection.  Perhaps beneath his rusty grimace he is truly just an orange supremacist, a buttress for the totality of all that rhymes with orange.  Any weigh, the question remains, “Who will ever no?!”

POEM: This Is Knot Poetry — When Red Allowed

Waiving his red pen
He made his mute point
That spoken word is knot poetry
Like meting
Meter and anti-meter
And the invariable deconstruction of awe
As if
Employing free
Versus
The hire mind
For awe
That its worth
Save in alliteral weigh
Abut
Alas
Bringing too bare
Undisciplined obscenities uddering
As opposed to the ladder
As any won
May eye
Make this suggestive
Perhaps you’s
An unpronounceable cymbal farmerly no’in as prints
Pulling weeds
Of biblical pro portion
Fore whatever
It maybe worth
There is know space
Sandwiched
Between poetry and knot poetry
Between amateurs and prose
Knot that which isn’t
Nor which is
The wurst
I ever metaphor
Whatever
Call me
I am
An outspoken unspoken word artist
Unspellbound in my crappy weighs
And should upon
In the coming daze
Sow called poets anon meet
As shepherds to sheep affix
Due the write thing
Feel free
To shut the flock up

This poem was inspired by a blog article that a friend shared, entitled, “Spoken Word Is Not Poetry.”  My immediate response was simple: “I find it helpful to see everything as poetry.”  Of course, this is the gloriously useless mode of perception I aspire to use awe the time.  However, this poem represents a more detailed critique of the assertion that spoken word is not poetry. The author of this article pined that many readers at open mics are not trained poets and typically use free verse or prose poetry.  I must confess: I am an untrained poet, except by my tutelage under various muses.  Further, the often quick use of vulgarities offended the author’s parently higher sensibilities.  I strongly suspect that the work of any poet or poets is never complete as truth in word, as opposed to doing the deed in life, because life is F’ing ineffable.  Claiming that spoken word is performance art, which it is, seemed to be a means to taint spoken word artists as something other than poets. I certainly don’t mind being seen as more than a poet!  I wonder if the author would consider a novelist not a novelist if they read their work aloud — that would be a novel idea!  I related to the author’s point that an important part of poetry is the relationship of the reader to the written word without being nailed down by a verbal representation (or layering upon it performance art).  Most of my poems are best read silently, to allow for the multiple interpretations and meanings to brew within the reader; this process is at the heart of my poetry.  I find it difficult to read many of my poems out loud because I must pick one way to read the poem which inevitably shortchanges the beauty of dancing multiple meanings.  I must admit that when it comes to my poetry I am conveniently an anarchist, formally rejecting socially constructed boundaries of form. I do not doubt that the many fine forms of poetry developed over centuries are worthy of attention.  Nonetheless, I consider deflating pretensions as fodder for my poetic vocations.  If this itself seems pretentious, please feel free to take a meta view of my sow-called poems as self-parody.  At the end of my daze, I want parity for awe.

A Spiritual Autobiography

I wrote the below spiritual autobiography a dozen years ago as part of a servant leadership study group.  While it definitely needs updating, it serves well as a brief overview of my spiritual history and development over much of my life, particularly my early years.  Fortuitously, my humor remains righteously irreverent and my faith grows.

RUTTS
by Alex Haley
(that’s just my pun name)

The year was 1961. Preceded by John, a child was conceived, fathered by a closeted gay man, in Bethlehem, on the outskirts of the city of brotherly love. In my mother’s womb, I was transported to Haiti, where my parents, as doctor and nurse, were beginning their service as medical missionaries with the Mennonite Central Committee. A dozen (and a half) generations ago my ancestors had fled religious persecution and military conscription in Germany to settle in America. For a new beginning, they were gifted with land from William Penn. This land was some of the most fertile in the world; so fertile, in fact, that even gay men father children there! Though now in Haiti, they were soon to be counted again among the privileged of the world. I was born. And on this journey, Joseph followed. Continuing my heritage as a sojourner in a foreign land, I was born a true child of the 60s.

I have no specific memories of those first couple of years in Haiti. However, only in recent years have I realized my ideal vision of serenity as sleeping without a care late in the morning in a mountain cabin while the rain pounds on the tin roof likely came from memories as a baby (now, if only I can figure out why I have a pleasant association with the smell of skunk!). Also, I am told that I was scared of most white people. Strangely, I am still haunted by white people on occasion.

After a brief stint in Detroit, perhaps explaining my love of urban life, I grew up in a small town in Michigan. The town was Mennonite-free, so I was raised a United Methodist. My childhood was strikingly trauma-free (only striking in retrospect). I knew safety. I knew predictability and caring. Our family always ate meals together, beginning with a prayer too short not to recount here: “God is great. God is good. Let us thank him for our food. Amen.” A lot more theology in that prayer than I usually give credit. Our family participated in worship and church functions regularly. Worship was generally boring. One of my few memories was a teenager with a guitar, singing “Blowing in the wind.” I guess that would have been contemporary music, huh? And that was before Bob Dylan was a Christian. I attended Sunday school, vacation Bible school, and youth group. I only vaguely remember confirmation. I remember good times. Except for a desperately poor matching of gifts by placing me in a children’s choir – my first, and really only, experience with “playing hooky.” I loved summer camp. First there were church camps, then Boy Scout camps. My younger brother and I earned Eagle Scout ranking (the highest in Boy Scouts) in record time. Our scoutmaster was easygoing and playful. Perhaps paradoxically, it was easy to achieve in that environment. If “achievement” had been required of me, I probably wouldn’t have done it, or at least wouldn’t have enjoyed it so much. When we later moved and joined another scout troop, which was probably better organized and certainly more rigid, we dropped out after a while.

My understanding of diversity was child-like. I knew that Catholic families were the ones with five or six kids. Good families to play with. My best friend’s dad was Cuban. He also had two older half-siblings. In retrospect, this was the only somewhat non-traditional family I recall; though I don’t recall giving it much thought.

I was baptized at age eleven. Apparently, I was out of the country at the time such events usually occur. Fortunately, my understanding of baptism was still pretty much that of an infant, so it worked out well. I was confirmed a year later. About this same time, I was in little league baseball. In an attempt to deal with performance anxiety, I kept a pocket-sized New Testament in my back pocket. This crude attempt at spiritual osmosis was discovered by my brothers who with little affection labeled me “Bible boy.” I didn’t like this. I remember that my parent rebuked them.

When we moved to Dearborn, Michigan, before my ninth grade, my parents looked for a church nearby, but had little success – “too suburban” I think. Not surprising, considering we lived in a nice home with a pool, only 100 feet from a golf course. They decided to return to their church from earlier years, Central United Methodist Church in downtown Detroit, 20 minutes away. Central is the oldest Protest-ant church in Michigan, and has been called “the conscience of the city.” Always a leader in social justice, their most widely known pastor preached pacifism before, during and after World War II. I was soon to be raised on 45+ minute sermons, truly epic sermons. A turning point happened to me sometime during my high school years when my mom took me to a peace conference at church. My eyes were opened and my heart would soon follow.

I went to Hope College, a small, private, liberal arts school. It was a Christian College, as were most of its staff and students, mostly Reformed and Christian Reformed. However, it was unlikely that I would ever be Reformed; conservatively speaking that is. My college years began with my father lightly warning me of these Calvinists. I didn’t know what he was talking about. My first roommate and I, who were boyhood friends, unknowingly were matched because we were both Methodists – apparently, a rare breed thereabouts. Early on, I must have been an easy target for an overabundance of evangelism. A friend invited me to Intervarsity Christian Fellowship. I went to what turned out to be a practically diversity-free zone; even ALL of the other persons in my small group were named “Kathy” (though probably a diversity of spellings). Later, when I saw out my dorm room window the friend who invited me, I said, “hello.” She asked me what I thought of the meeting. I shouted from the second floor window something to the effect that it was “too religious.” I did like church, and I went willingly. I even went to chapel services three times a week – religiously. I was also on part-time staff of the campus ministry. Though a biology major, I was frequently mistaken for a political science or philosophy major. Apparently, I was succeeding at the liberal arts (or at least the art of being liberal).

I very soon got involved with a small group of students known as the World Hunger Committee. Being a United Methodist, I must have known that there would be a committee for that! This formally launched my work in social justice, and my personal interest in stewardship, vegetarianism and nutrition. That first year, God brought together this son of a Mennonite with a Hope graduate who was a Mennonite (perhaps the only one). I told him that I was concerned about President Carter re-instituting draft registration. He said, “Why don’t you start a peace group?” I said, “Yes.” Fortunately, I didn’t now what I was doing. So, I helped found “Hope for Peace.”

For my own concerns, I hooked up with a Viet Nam war-era draft counselor. To make a long story short, when President Reagan broke his campaign promise to end draft registration, I was identified in the Detroit News as a non-registrant. Being the only publicly-identified non-registrant in Michigan, I garnered much media attention. Eventually, the Reagan ‘get the government off your back’ regime and his Attorney General, Edwin ‘people are only hungry by choice’ Meese III, saw that out of millions of non-registrants, I was number 13 to be prosecuted. In the end, six years later, after heroically losing half a dozen pre-trial motions (with the help of a volunteer team of legal experts), my older brother dying, graduating from college, getting married, having a son, graduating from graduate school, and getting a job, I defended myself before a jury of my peers (though none of them were subject to the law I was defending myself from). I lost. But what did I win? (that is, beside three months room and board at the taxpayers’ expense) I learned to live in good conscience. I learned to refine my beliefs, even amidst great public scrutiny. I learned about civil disobedience, or as A.J. Muste, a great American pacifist and Hope College graduate would have said, “holy obedience” (in my write mind I say, “wholly obedience). I learned that the U.S. government has the absolute authority to draft any citizen regardless of conscientious objection. Any exception to this is due only to “legislative grace.” I learned to live by God’s grace even when it exceeds the grace of my government. Actually, I presented my case at the Detroit Annual Conference of the United Methodist Church, in conjunction with a resolution to support young men’s consciences who were subject to draft registration laws, whether their conscience led them to register or not. The resolution failed. So, I learned to live by God’s grace even when it exceeds the grace of my denomination.

During college, after guest preaching at my home church in Detroit, someone came up afterwards and said, “I didn’t know that you were in seminary.” Nonetheless, I consider myself a theological mutt. I have drawn from many Christian traditions. I have studied Asian religions, and I am drawn to Buddhism. I am an amateur philosopher (that is, until someone pays me) and I am intrigued by the angst of existentialism. I have experienced a spiritual re-awakening in Alanon, which has given me things that my church could not. I believe that “religionism” may be the ultimate “-ism,” preventing us from experiencing the oneness of God. I may be a leading candidate to be voted, “most likely to be heretical,” by the powers that be. This is my orthodoxy. I believe that paradox lives in the neighbor of truth; and we should love our neighbors. In true Zen-like fashion, I find that irreverence is often the highest form of reverence. Among my heresies is my unabashed appreciation of “The Simpsons” (but, as the Hindus would say, “Don’t have a cow.”).

After an intense summer working for Bread for the World as an organizer, and days before my senior year began, my brother John was killed in an avalanche in Western Canada; but only after dropping out of college while on foreign study, wandering, rock-climbing and working (pretty much in that order) for a couple of years in Africa and the Western U.S. His death has given me a much greater sense of mortality and the preciousness of life each day. I actually find funerals as fruitful opportunities for reflection and renewing my sense of “living in the moment.” I have undervalued such opportunities. One of the few regrets in my life was missing three of four funerals of my grandparents.

My paternal grandparents were particularly religious. Only upon the occasion of their 50th wedding anniversary (and doing the math) did I realize that my father was a near-bastard child to a teen mom. Years later, when my sister was pregnant and out-of-wedlock at age 19, my grandfather said, “The sins of the grandfather are being visited upon the granddaughter.” My thought: get over it! Well, at least, I can now understand why my gay father was closeted until his parents were either dead or demented. While I didn’t see healing in my grandparents, I saw that having an understanding of God under construction is a good thing, and sometimes demolition work is required.

That brings me to my marriage. To make a long, and usually happy, story short, my marriage of 11+ years ended 10 years ago. Nonetheless, we were blessed with two wonderful children, Joshua and Kathryn. I love being a parent. It may be the closest I’ve been able to experience what God must feel in His/Her unconditional love for us. Kate’s life is an ongoing miracle since she was born with multiple heart defects. She underwent two heart surgeries, and at one point with surgical complications, a doctor, trying to be optimistic, said, she has at least a 50/50 chance of living. A brush with death. There’s that mortality thing again. Not unlike death, I thought I had no problem with divorce – as long as it was happening to other people. Accepting our divorce was the most difficult thing I have ever dealt with.

Being out of a “relationship” for a number of years helped my re-develop my relationship with myself and with God. This came more through Alanon than church. Now, being in a relationship for eight years with a wise and beautiful woman has taught me to appreciate life as it comes, one day at a time – with both of us half single, half single parent; no longer with in-laws but ex’s. I’ve learned that God makes all things new, and often faster than I want. God never gives me what I want; God always gives me something better!

My career. God brought me to a career in public health, as I savored its roots in social justice. God brought me out of public health, re-naming me “Top Pun,” and appointing me as a jester for peace, where the pun is mightier than the sword, and justice is no yoke. My canvasses are buttons, T-shirts, bumper stickers, and the World Wide Web. My business, by definition, is good – that is, maximizing prophets. My business is exactly on schedule; though I don’t know what the schedule is.

God brought me to Central’s neighborhood, and a few hours later, to Central. Centralites were my kind of people. Some happened to be Christians who were gay. Through my social justice work, not my public health work, God brought me to work in the fight against HIV/AIDS. This opened further opportunities to work with persons who happened to be gay. My dad “came out.” My parents divorced. God had prepared me.

I have issues with money. I aspire to live simply, gracefully facilitated by my recent poverty-level earnings. Living with less financial security has inspired me to give today because I may not be able to give later. Whatever old car I’m driving facilitates my prayer life (of course, no “auto”-biography would be complete without a mention of my car).

I am a mystic at heart, journeying as a gifted rationalist, Caucasian, male, father, lover, businessman, American, etc., etc., yada, yada, yada. While embracing the enigmatic, I hope these few words will offer you a clue as to who I am. Hopefully, these few words will offer you a clue as to who we are. One of my favorite poems is from Muhammad Ali: “Me. We.”

In all, God has never left me; except for an instant in 1981, but that’s another story…

POEM: A World Worth Fighting For

Once agin
His eyes went
Threw me
Populating lonely
A whirled
Of perpetrators and victims
Bad asses and good ass
Of which I was won
Haunted by wonder
In what kind
Of world
Would we halve
Been friends
Now that is
A world worth
Fighting for

In a world flush with partisan rancoring and polarized perspectives, it is easy to pay know tension to each other’s humanity, often valuing each other less than common ground.  Who is a hero? He who turns his enemy into a friend. The Talmud quote PEACE BUTTONIn a world wear the lyin’ between winners and losers is sharply drawn, like an unbrakable sored, we risk a fate worse than deaf.  When we are effaced with the phallus choice forced upon us between perpetrators and victims, there peers no amor culpable of shielding us in what is right or left, split in two, halves and have nots.  The flush harbor in their stately effluence of fauxs.  Oar their wins carry them aweigh, atop endless serfs and bounteous fleeting vassals.

Can one side fit awe?Peace - One Side Fits All - Peace Dove - PEACE BUTTON  Courage to Stand Up and Sit Down Listen - PEACE QUOTE BUTTONCan we engender enough solidarity and courage to make peace?  What does fighting for won an other’s humanity look like?  Who knows, perhaps the genuine struggle to answer such questions in our living and dying may very well be what makes this a world worth fighting for.

Summer Solstice Poem: A Day of Longing No More

The longest day of the year
And nothing too due
He was well
Grounded
Sent to his roam
Bye know won
On the level
Of ants
Who never say “uncle”
With blades broken
Beaten by the sun
Sow green
With envy 93 million miles away
As feeled of dreams
Un-till
The king dumb
Of man
Clamoring agin
Fore mow mow mow
Wanting soully
Ever more

On this summer solstice day I took a leisurely jaunt on my bike down to the Toledo Art Museum lawn. Next to a stream of consciousness, I wrote this poem.  This poem touches on a common theme of mine: absconding from the business and battles of everyday life.  May your daze get shorter from now on.

POEM: That Cursory Savor

Life
As present
Did not add up
As if
A zero
Sum game
The passed getting bigger
The future getting smaller
That good buy
That eminent lessen
As holy for gone
As refuse
As waive that fortune
Having only
Too come to wrest
With that cursory savor
The eternal
Now

That was Zen - This is Tao - FUNNY SPIRITUAL BUTTONHere is yet another poem on the theme of the eternal now. Life can seem to pass by so quickly with so many distractions, perhaps wondering where it all goes. Know madder how attached we are to things, they seem to pass.  The present, arisen from the past and cascading into the future, is awe we have.  And we find ourselves, moved by weigh of this exquisite mystery, in the mist of where the passed and the future are knot won or the other.  Long the weigh, most of us look for a savor of some sort, weather short and sweet or lingering and rarefied.  Not with standing, we are prone to cling on, fighting increasingly alien forces, light years beyond any measure of good taste.  Our salivation dries up before our face, caught in a scrunch, as whither every fecund moment reseeds in a parent mummification.  And in spite of everything, the Tao jones arises again and agin…

POEM: Wrenching Machine

He threw himself into his work
Like a wrench
More than just
A gag
In a wrenching machine

They deem me mad because I will not sell my days for gold; and I deem them mad because they think my days have a price -- Kahlil Gibran quote POLITICAL BUTTONQuestion Consumption - POLITICAL BUTTONHere is a Monday poem dedicated to all anti-work workers, those less-than-willing cogs in dehumanizing machines.  I am so grateful for being my own boss and running my own business, where I can escape many of the heart-wrenching accommodations faced by wage slaves.  I heartily recommend simplifying your material needs to help minimize any need of selling yourself to dubious employers.  This also doubles as an anti-consumer, low-resource consumption lifestyle.  May we all find meaningful vocations untethered to capitalist exploitation.

Debt Slavery - No Chains Necessary (Sisyphus) - POLITICAL BUTTONIf Wealth Was The Inevitable Result of Hard Work, Every Woman In Africa Would Be A Millionaire -- George Monbiot quote POLITICAL BUTTON

Simplicity Trumps Affluence [Royal Flush] SPIRITUAL BUTTON

POEM: Nonpartisan Shootings

Weather running the country
In too the ground
Or playing hardball
So well practiced
America pines
For that national past time
And return to nonpartisan shootings

The shooting on a baseball field full of Republican congressmen and staffers has jacked up partisan wranglings and a united front of buy partisan preyer.  STOP [with bullet hole as O] POLITICAL BUTTONOf coarse, violence is the ultimate partisan activity, fashioning stiff lines between life and death, conveniently favoring won’s life over an other.  Our national celebrity worship teams with hour enduring desire too be led to brake through our collective amnesia over mass shootings daily reeking havoc among mere pee-ons. Gun violins unremarkably persist as congress works to legalize silencers — strange, I never heard that.  In the end, for whatever end, I am agin gun violence, agin and agin and agin…

Feel free to browse anti-gun violence designs.

NRA Not Representing America POLITICAL BUTTONGuns Don't Kill, Gaping Holes in Vital Organs Do POLITICAL BUTTONGet Real, Like Jesus Would Ever Own A Gun And Vote Republican POLITICAL BUTTON

Guns Are Not Pro-Life POLITICAL BUTTONIf Guns Are Outlawed Only Outlaws Will Accidentally Shoot Their Children - FUNNY POLITICAL BUTTONGuns Don't Die People Do PEACE BUTTON

 

POEM: Devil’s Advocate

He was invited too serve
As devil’s advocate
But he prudently recognized
That the job was utterly filled
Declining the precipitous prize
And elevated gratuitousness

At one point or another, we are each tempted to take up, the downside of an argument.  The temptation to play devil’s advocate is yielded to with such regularity that more often than not such encumbrances serve only to discourage rather than uplift.  Don't Explain Your Philosophy, Embody It POLITICAL BUTTONReflexive skepticism often bludgeons another’s confidence.  Incessant dissection and paralysis of analysis can stall horse sense.  The evil genius of devil’s advocacy is in the seemingly safe purview of inaction.  Sins of omission are much easier to defend than sins of commission.  Endlessly attending multifarious schools of thought offers erudite inaction at a faction of the cost  Nonetheless, in a world already fucked up, practicing safer sects doesn’t go far enough.  Inaction favors the status quo.  In action favors change.  Fortunes favor conservatism.  Fortune favors the bold.  The Devil needs advocates like we need a hole in ahead — don’t fall into that claptrap!  We learn more from what we due than awe the rationalizing in the whirled.  I’ll see you in the real world and raze you 100 devil’s advocates.

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do. Explore. Dream. Discover. Mark Twain quote SPIRITUAL BUTTONWhy not go out on a limb? Isn't that where the fruit is? Mark Twain quote SPIRITUAL BUTTON

CLIMATE CHANGE POEM: Donald Trump Has Gone Buggy

Donald Trump has gone buggy
As in big ass hoarse drawn carriage
Making hay and whips
With great industry
As unbelievable
As nuclear-powered Amish
A trial balloon
Only to be led
By nothing butt
A horse’s ass

There Are No Jobs On A Dead Planet POLITICAL BUTTONHere is another poem in honor of President Donald Trump’s continuing climate change buggery.  One way or another, his way of thinking will become extinct.

 

 

 

 

Fossil Fuel Is Dead POLITICAL BUTTONToday, humanity faces a stark choice: save the planet and ditch capitalism, or save capitalism and ditch the planet --Fawzi Ibrahim quote POLITICAL BUTTONWestern Civilization Is A Loaded Gun Pointed At The Head Of This Planet -- Terrence McKenna quote POLITICAL BUTTON

Man is a part of nature, and his war against nature is inevitably a war against himself --Rachel Carson quote POLITICAL BUTTONGot Ice Caps POLITICAL BUTTON	 I Don't Want My Country Back, I Want My Country Forward POLITICAL BUTTON

 

POLITICAL POEM: Trump Pulls Out As Partners Dumb Found

Trump Pulls Out As Partners Dumb Found

Sow culpable
Too due nothing
President Trump pulls out
What little hand
He had in Mother Earth’s
Safe guarding
His oily and gassy mates
Coal for everyone!
It’s like Christmas!!
And stocks sore
In the after math
Of this unbelievable savior
As he
Really nailed this won
Portending every faux
In ascension into heavin’
His big short
His wee altitude toward clime
Single digit approval
Or not
As what gives
Chump change
In loo of climate change

At Least The War on the Environment is Going Well POLITICAL BUTTONThis poem is in response to President (sic) Donald Trump’s pulling out of the Paris climate change accord.  For badder or worse, this clear signal of climate insanity may provide the best united front yet for international resistance to American hegemony; plus, American abdication of global leadership offers opportunities to forge more sane efforts at worldwide solidarity.

This article says it well, In praise of Trump pulling out of the Paris climate pact:

“To the dismay of our allies, the White House could any day announce the U.S. will withdraw from the Paris climate agreement. But as a patriot and climate activist, I’m not dismayed. I actually want to pull out.Do Not Worry About The Environment - It Will Go Away POLITICAL BUTTON

The value of the Paris Agreement is in its aspirational goal of limiting temperature increase to 1.5 degrees Celsius, not in its implementation mechanisms, which are voluntary, insufficient, and impossible to monitor. But that modest goal will be breached shortly, which makes the agreement a kind of fig leaf, offering political cover to those who would soft-pedal the runaway climate crisis a while longer.

The U.N. Conference of the Parties is certainly not the organization to constrain powerful, retrenched fossil fuel interests and other bad climate actors and rogue climate states. The Paris agreement affords oil, gas and coal companies a globally visible platform through which to peddle influence and appear engaged on climate change while lobbying for business as usual. That won’t save the climate.
At what point do we give up wishful, incremental thinking — that reason will prevail, the free market will adjust, the president’s daughter and son-in-law will dissuade him from the worst climaticide, the Democratic Party will do something, or prior policies which tinker on the margins like the Clean Power Plan won’t be totally obliterated?

I’d argue we’ve reached that point. If Trump withdraws from the Paris Agreement, at least we will have clarity instead of false hope.

Who wanted to keep the U.S. in the Paris agreement anyway? People around the world, a majority of Americans, environmentalists and other coastal elites — constituencies for which Trump has shown indifference and/or contempt. Staying in was also favored by Exxon Mobil, Chevron, BP, Peabody coal, eBay, HP, General Mills, Kellogg, Tesla and other multinationals the Trump administration would have preferred to keep happy. But let’s face it, they won’t be all that mad the U.S. is pulling out, and the political impact won’t be all that great.

Neither will the environmental impact. In fact, since the agreement lacks teeth, breaking it won’t have any effect on the climate in the short term. But in the longer term, the shock and rethinking it will cause in some circles just might precipitate political and cultural changes we need to stave off climate cataclysm.

Pulling out of Paris will also give the president a political boost. It gives Breitbart and Fox something to crow about and The New York Times, Washington Post and CNN something that’s not Russia-gate to fret over.

Earth First - We'll Rape the Other Planets Later - FUNNY POLITICAL BUTTONDon’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to justify or abet Trump and his supporters in climate denial, and I’m not thinking climate activists and the Trump administration will end up in some the kind of strange-bedfellows embrace. Personally, I loathe this administration and find the president’s actions mean, maleficent, and mendacious, though it’s nothing personal. On my very best days I can eke out a couple minutes of meta loving-kindness meditation for the president as a person, but it’s a struggle.

I welcome pulling out of the Paris agreement because it will disrupt our complacency and strengthen the most vigorous avenues of climate action left to us, which are through the courts and direct citizen action. It lends much more credence to the Our Children’s Trust legal argument that the federal government has utterly failed in its responsibility to consider the long-term impact of carbon emissions. It advances the arguments of the Community Environmental Legal Defense Fund in their federal lawsuit for the right to a livable climate. And it strengthens the case for climate activists attempting to raise the “necessity defense” as a justification for citizen climate action, as I and my fellow “valve turners” are doing as we face criminal charges for shutting off emergency valves on oil sands pipelines.

I Can't Afford To Be a Republican (neither can the planet!) POLITICAL BUTTONIt’s also true that withdrawal from Paris deprives mainstream environmental organizations and the foundations and funders that guide them of a key deliverable, and that could risk eroding support for them. Perhaps that’s not such a bad thing. Many of them have pursued an utterly bankrupt strategy of understating the climate problem, negotiating with the fossil fuel industry, and cherry-picking small victories to showcase organizational accomplishments at the expense of a functional movement strategy.

Pulling out of Paris takes false hopes off the table, and opens the way for building an effective climate movement. So as committed climate activist who knows we’re running out of time, I say, let’s get on with it.”

The false propriety of incremental change is being smashed.  Let’s join together as one planet, one humanity, to build a lasting consensus that Mother Earth deserves our love and undying respect.

Sen. Robert WALDO Portman, Where Are You?!

Senator Robert WALDO PortmanSen. Robert WALDO Portman, where are you?!
All about
Red and white stripes
And no blue to be seen
In what
Might better
Be a black and white world
Yet no wear
To be found
In this tattered democracy
And flagging civility
On recessSenator Robert WALDO Portman in Prison Stripes
Out of town
Out to lunch
With a staff infection
Knot culpable of answering
To the cell
With the unapproved ID
And phase to phase metings
Shirking responsibly
Covering his hide
Afraid to show his face
With so much lie-ability

 

This poem was inspired by our weekly Trump Tuesdays protest outside of Sen. Rob Portman’s Toledo office.  While on recess, he or his staff were nowhere to be found. They did not answer the phone, and when we found out that his staff were in the office, they claimed to be out to lunch — perhaps a truer statement has never been issued from that office!  We will keep showing up until democracy breaks out in Toledo and Ohio and the United States of America.

 

HOPE POEM: Hope Can Be

Hope can be
Like an animal cornered by a predator
Fighting for life
Hope can be
Like a wisp of smoke
Wafting through the claws of enemies
Hope can be
Like adore number three
A seeding that grand prize of a lifetime
Byway of a constellation prize
Cheep in hand
Not enough to beguile
A way from blazing stars twinkling upon us
Sow far a weigh
Invisible during daze
Soully to serve
That first class purpose
Best suited
Naked to the night
And inextinguishable light

Hope is a common thread in my poems, even in those that deal with brutal injustices.  This poem offers several facets of hope.  Got Hope SPIRITUAL BUTTONHope Trumps Despair PEACE BUTTONFirst, hope can come in the invigorating immediacy of a direct threat where life is literally at stake.  The awakening of purpose in such situations offers a clarity that is often lost in the muddled vagaries of life.  I see hope in this.  Second, hope can appear as a calm, centered, and artfully wise bypassing of confrontations where violence has the upper hand.  This kind of hope lives within a set of rules not dictated by one’s enemies.  Thirdly, this poem lifts up hope rooted soully in undying truths that can fuel patience for life and fearless courage in efface of death.  As hope wends through our lives, and life itself, may we be bound as won accord as we experience hope’s many threads.